


No Clowns, Only Carnivals

by AU Mer-Maid (neonstardust)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Amusement Parks, Brief Mentions of Nausea, Don't Let The Tags Fool You This Is Safe For Work, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Kinktober 2019, Overstimulation, Wholesome Safe For Work Content In My Kinktober? Heck Yeah, brief mentions of clowns, meet-cute without the cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-06 07:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21222491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonstardust/pseuds/AU%20Mer-Maid
Summary: Shirabu knew going to the amusement park would be a bad idea, but when a migraine sets in, he finds himself lost and stranded with no where to go.Until Yahaba finds him.





	No Clowns, Only Carnivals

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober Day 28 - Prompt: Overstimulation

It's too much.

The music clashes, disjointed and out of sync. Lights flash. Someone bumps Shirabu's shoulder. The overwhelmingly sweet scent of dumplings and cotton candy mingle with the grease of pizza. A woman bumps into him; her perfume burns his nose.

Shuffling through the crowd, he searches blindly for his teammates. Each step leads him closer to the ramen stand until the stench becomes unbearable, but when he turns away, blue and purple lights flash. A rollercoaster roars past him. Shirabu covers his ears as the passengers shriek in delight.

His head pounds. The earth sways, and he latches onto the pole of the directory, praying for it to stop. He needs to leave. He searches for an escape, but each route seems worse than the last. A parade of drummers march past to his right. A hibachi grill sizzles behind him. Strobe lights flicker from the haunted mansion to his left, and all around him are people, people, people.

Shirabu closes his eyes. He needs to calm down. If he can get himself under control, he can find his way back to the station. The train ride there had been a nightmare filled with crying children and a vomiting drunk, but he can handle it if he can just get away from everything else.

His chest aches. Fingers tight around the sign, he can't bring himself to move.

“You look bad.”

Forcing his eyes open, Shirabu finds a boy standing between him and the crowd. “I have a migraine,” he hisses. Lights flash behind the boy, and Shirabu can no longer tell if they're real or just in his head.

The boy starts to walk away, then stops. “I can take you to a quiet place.” He glances back at Shirabu. “I heard that can help with migraines.”

“You had me at quiet.” Shirabu pries his fingers from the bar. His hands come away red and sore, but the boy is already walking, forcing Shirabu to chase after him. The crowd coalesces around him. A siren goes off as a child wins a prize in a water shooting game. A band starts playing at the nearby amphitheater, and Shirabu freezes, hands over his ears. Nausea overwhelms him.

The boy reappears by his elbow. “You can hold onto me to keep from getting lost.” He offers his hand.

Shirabu hesitantly accepts. His skin feels cool, and he tries to focus on that as he’s lead past the carousel blaring out a cheery song that makes him feel dizzy without having to be on it.

The boy struggles with the crowd, too, but once he finds an opening, he weaves between the attractions, looping around behind the petting zoo where there are no rides, no music except for the distant sounds of the amphitheater. They cross an old wooden bridge. On the other side, he leads them around a display of classic cars and old war vehicles into a large building.

Cold air slaps his face, but the air inside is quieter, cleaner. As the concession stands fade into the world outside, Shirabu takes a deep breath, his mind clearing. His migraine pulses. The boy pulls him to an exhibit tucked away in one corner of the building, and the room slowly stops swaying.

“This is the quiet place,” he announces. When Shirabu lets him go, he sits down on the floor, leaning back against the bottom of the display.

“Thanks.” Shirabu sits next to him. His head throbs. Closing his eyes, he focuses on breathing until his legs stop shaking and the stars fade from his vision.

“Amusement parks are a lot to take in.”

Shirabu glances at him. “Yeah. You got a name?”

“Yep.”

Shirabu watches him pull out a coloring book. Flipping to the first clean page, he takes out a blue pencil and starts coloring within the lines. “I’m Shirabu,” he says once the silence stretches on too long.

He stops for a moment. “I’m Yahaba Shigeru. I go to Aoba Johsai, and I am deathly afraid of clowns.”

“Noted.” Shirabu watches him shade in a square shaped area of some abstract design.

“I punched a clown twice,” Yahaba explains. “I use a disclaimer now.”

“You punched one clown two times”—Shirabu leans his head in his hand—“or you punched two separate clowns?”

“Two clowns. The first one was an accident.” He frowns down at his picture. “The second was also an accident, but he deserved it more.”

Shirabu snorts. “I’m not deathly afraid of anything, but if I see a creepy doll, I am entitled to throw it far away from me.”

Yahaba nods sagely. “That should be a sport.” His gaze drifts to Shirabu’s face. “You look better now.”

“Yeah.” His head still throbs, but the pain drops down to a manageable level. He can almost imagine they’re at school, the few people wandering through the exhibit center merely students on their way to class.

“I’m glad.” He smiles. “This place has a zero-death rate. It would be a shame if you ruined that.”

“I wasn’t gonna die.”

“You looked”—he holds his hand up, his thumb and index finger centimeters apart—“this close to needing a coffin.”

“If I kill you,” Shirabu says, “that will ruin your zero-death rate.”

“Noted,” he mimics. Finished with his blue handiwork, he swaps out that pencil for a red one. He moves around the picture like it’s a puzzle, working from the outside edges in. A pattern begins to form. He colors darkest where the red and blue meet, and it looks almost purple at the right angle.

He switches to a green pencil. “I have another book. Want to color?”

“I prefer drawing,” Shirabu says.

Nodding, he pulls out a blank notepad and passes it to Shirabu with a pencil. “I don’t have a sketchbook, but you can use this.”

“Is this what you do all day?”

“Yep.” The green and blue mix to form a gentle sea. “My dad volunteers here until late evening. This is the quietest spot I’ve found to wait for him in.” Shirabu doesn’t want to imagine ever coming back to an amusement park, let alone coming regularly because of his parent’s job. Yahaba only shrugs.

Picking up the pencil, Shirabu starts drawing. “Did the clowns quit after you punched them?”

“Oh, no. They don’t work here.” He holds up one finger. “The first one was at a birthday party.” The way he says it gives the distinct impression that it was not his own party. Holding up a second finger, he says, “The other one was a classmate.”

“I can see how he deserved it more.”

“Definitely.” Yahaba cracks his knuckles, as if preparing himself for the next sudden unexpected clown attack. “What are you drawing?”

Shirabu looks down at his sketch. Curling hair. Bright eyes. A dimple in only one cheek, and a smattering of freckles across high cheek bones. “A clown,” he says.

“I am liable to punch you.”

Shirabu shades in the curve of Yahaba’s smile. “Don’t worry.” He holds up the picture for him to see. “I think you’ll like this one.”

Yahaba beams, and without a doubt, Shirabu knows he likes this clown, too.

**Author's Note:**

> "Do you just not answer your phone anymore?" Semi demands. He checks Shirabu over like a mother with a lost child.
> 
> "We weren't worried," Tendou says, but he clings to him like a koala bear.
> 
> Taichi holds up a goldfish in a bag. "It's unsafe to go alone. Take this with you." Taking one hand off Shirabu, Tendou reaches out to give Taichi a highfive.
> 
> Reon offers a sympathetic smile. "Are you okay?"
> 
> "Yeah." Shirabu tightens his grip on the notebook. "I had fun."


End file.
